50 Degrees Below Without the WindChill
by Agent Kitty
Summary: Seven year old Coyote Mulder - loosely based on Fox Mulder - has one fear greater than any other: his evil, demonic grandmother, who is also his first grade teacher. One summer, he is sentenced to stay at her house with only his sister as company and live in the basement of her lair. Will Coyote survive three weeks, or will it end in a matter of days?
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**__ This story is based off a character in the X-Files role play my sisters and I had about half a year back. The characters are closely but not exactly based on those from The X-Files TV show, so don't get confused. After we ran out of sensible action/adventure sequences, it became comedic, ridiculous, and random, and thus created this… monster. Enjoy! _

Chapter 1

My name is Coyote William Mulder. No, wait – it's Special Agent Coyote William Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI!). But that's now, and if you want to know about now, look through a role-play spirit log, and watch the X-Files TV show (except the guy in that is named Fox. What a wussy name. He he.) I got to make out with my partner Kyra Scully a bit, too, and a lot of other awkward stuff. Anyhoo, I'm here to talk about my childhood... and me and my childhood start with a certain person known as… wait for it… MY GRANDMOTHER!

Okay, so you might think that all grannies are sweet and nice and love their grandchildren… sure, that's true for some of them, but the truth is, most are practically witches. Mine, you might wonder… what was she? A sweet granny or a barbaric monster? Well, truth be told, she was neither. She was a raving, snarling, beastly, hideous, ogre-like, giantess of a freaky alien from beyond mars, or even the 'final frontier' of space. She was _the_ Boss Level Boss. _The_ Boss.

She was – and still is, unfortunately – my mother's mother. Now that's just plain scary. Okay, so you get the big picture – I'm a little kid (7 years old when I first appear in this story… three years before… before… SAMANTHA! BWAHHHHHHHHH!) – with an evil of all evils grandmother, a stiff set of parents, and a little sister, who was 5 when this story starts.

Okay, so here we go. My grandmother was a kick-ass murderer on the race track with her cherry-red motorcycle when she met my grandfather. After they had kids (my mother being their daughter) my grandfather upset her and was locked in the basement, without any clothes on where the temperature ranged from 50 degrees below 0 Fahrenheit to around 100 below with the wind-chill. He froze to death, sadly, and my grandmother said he deserved it (the reason she was mad at him was because he forgot to add the motor oil in her coffee. Les ogress loves her motor oil, and can't live without it.)

Then my mother got all mixed up with the Smoking Bastard and had me or Samantha or someone. I think it was me, actually, and Sammy was the son… (sorry Samantha, that's mean to you) or daughter of me daddy, William Mulder.

Okay, so now in the story, I'm seven, my sister is five, and we're on the way to my grandmother's house. I glanced over at Sammy, and looking really nervous, prodded her in the side.

She poked me back, and said "Coyote, I'm scared of granny."

"Me too," I said. "But remember, Sammy, she likes you a lot. Maybe she'll let you watch your favorite show."

Sammy laughed. Her favorite show was "So you Think you can Dance?" Now, before I continue, there's something you must know about my grandmother. And that is that she _hates_, with all the loathing of hell, dancing (unless she's doing it herself). "Coyote," she said. "You're really stupid."

I started crying, because she was being mean to me again. She instantly looked sorry, and I felt an evil sensation of victory come over me, but I kept crying just to make her feel bad.

Finally we got there, and were greeted by… by… well, by this guy:

"How many kittens have you killed in your lifetime? I've got five to show for." Something like this was always the way my grandmother's old drunk neighbor engaged in a conversation. He held up his right hand, covered in cactus scratches from his "pet" he keeps by the open window (it's fallen out more times than I can count, but is somehow still alive). He always claims these battle wounds of his are from the warrior kittens he was eventually forced to drown in his bathtub after they raided his kitchen.

"Hi, dude." I say, because I don't what his name is, and I don't really want to. I think it's like Mr. Sneedle Grode or something. That was just the first random sounds that came to mind, so it might just work. Sneedle, I'll just call him then, held out his hand to shake. He has a lot of rumors about him buzzing around his head like a cloud of stinging wasps. So I didn't shake his hand; I just smiled and said the only kitten I'd killed was my granny's because I thought he was the devil and she always stuck him in our faces and told us he would kill us during the night if we misbehaved. So really it was Sammy's fault. Don't ask.

Sneedle finally left us alone, and we tentatively knocked on the witches door. I saw a looming eye through the keyhole. Then the door creaked slowly open, and the little gold chain from the inside of withdrawn, and well as about five other bolts and locks. I even heard her removing a nailed-on board with the end of a hammer. I think I remember something about that hammer.

It was one of those seemingly endless email loops… something like this.

Hi, honey,

This is your Grandmother. I got a new hammer. Here's a picture. [See attachment below.]

Granny.

Hi, Granster,

What IS that? Please don't tell me!

Kitty.

_ Hi, "Kitty",_

That_ is my new hammer. I took a kid's eye out with it, and had to finish him off and bury him in the back yard to hide what the cops were guessing at… his mommy said it was "that old lady's grandson," so I took the opportunity to get away with my... hmmmm… fifty-seven-thousandth murder, I think? _

_ Granny. _

_ Freaky Killer Lady –_

_ Here's a joke. An old lady walked into a bar with a hammer, and beat the bar senseless. Then she walked into a pig, and made some ham with her hammer. Get it? LOL!_

_ Best Wishes (with a lot to myself),_

_Kitty. _

Anyway, it went on for a while and I don't really want to see that murder weapon in real life, so I hung back from the door a good ways, until I heard her put away that hammer.

"Goddamn it!" She snapped, even though she knew it was us already, "You damn kids again!" For some reason, one her eyes looked yellowish and the other red. She had the appearance of a horror-movie mad scientist. "Where're you goddamn parents?" Her teeth rattled, and a little spit hit me in the face. I flinched, and felt a wee bit faint.

I heard her radio in the background (political drool!): "…back to work, so we can increase revenues, in help education. And to reduce corporate tax loopholes, we are the fifth state forty-six production of our student fulfill those jobs. Washington state is worthy of… I reform packages… great teacher in every classroom… why science technology… every child… dropping out of school…"

Hmmm… dropping out of school… great teacher in every classroom. That's reminds of something I need to tell you about very soon…

Anyway, my granny snapped and chewed my mum and papa 'til they looked as though they might puke, then told us we could sleep in the basement where our granddaddy died. How sweet. I had to run to the bathroom to comfort/be comforted by Samantha and puke from fear in the toilet (I'm not sure if granny is goffic or something, but the toilet already had some stuff in it… a little blood, a knife blade, a hand, some fake teeth (maybe they were fake, maybe not) and a couple of rotten fish.)

So I puked again.

Anyhoo (god I hate it when the granster says that)… about school. My grandmother, and yes, you read the correctly, my grandmother – taught my school class. I was in the first grade, even though I was seven, because granny thought I was real dumb (no offense to any people out there who are genuine idiotas, but yes, she thought she had a stupid grandson. Get over it, I say. I think I'm just creative… I'M SPECIALLY DIFFERENT, OKAY!) and she's mean.

OKAY, FLASHBACK TIME.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Day 1

6:30 A.M. , 13/51/1968

Cockroach Elementary School – Mrs. née Kuiper's Classroom (First Grade)

Chilmark, Massachusetts, USA, America, North America, Washington George Gregory, Planet Earth, okay aliens out there who think otherwise?

My teacher (the granster) was sitting at her desk, picking her nose with the eraser-bare chew-up metal end of her pencil until it bled scarlet drops that rolled from her nostrils like cavemen charging from a cave. And that, my friends, was what she was marking our F's with.

I shivered, and shot her a glance from where I was being forced to practice drawing C's on a blank outline of a corncob as punishment. I started drawing spaceships instead of C's because I was sooooo bored. Mrs. née Kuiper, aka my grandmother (that's also my mommy's maiden name, FYI), was glaring back at me through eyes, which, I swear to this day were glowing demonically red.

One of my friends leaned over to me and whispered, "Iiiiiiiiii-I-I-I, wanna save your, save your ass toniiiiii-i-i-ight." Which I thought was weird because that One Direction song hadn't even come out yet. In fact, One Direction's singers weren't even born in 1968, or for a while afterward, for that matter. I shrugged it off, and began drawing spaceships again on my paper.

Suddenly, my blood cells turned black, the plasma that carried them from neighborhood to other neighborhood turned to black-freaking-ice, and I felt sick to my stomach. "Coyote Mulder?" She rasped, croaked, bellowed, screeched, and vomited those menacing words all at the same time. "Get your weaseling little pipsqueak of a camel hump up here! This ruler needs to hit something!"

I would have bolted had I not been glued like a stiff dead guy to my chair, the pencil half way to my nose and half way to the spaceships making their little crop-circles in the corn cob, and my mouth hanging half open so a little drool was forming in one corner of my mouth. It was as if I had tetanus and my jaw – and the rest of my body – had simply stopped functioning. I was going to puke. Oh, sweet Mother Mary, I was going to puke.

And then the best thing happened. It was as if an angel had descended from Heaven and told the Devil she would take my place in Hell if only I could live a few days longer. And the reason I keep yapping about holly god and blah, blah, blah, is that her name _was_ Angel. Well, Angelica, actually, but means about the same thing, I think.

Her long, curly blonde hair was like… uh… daisies if daisies were yellow instead of white and purple. She had eyes as bright as something really bright blue and she looked like she might be the kid version of one of those hot model chics showing off bikinis. Okay, so that's a little creepy, but for a six or seven year old, damn she was hot.

"Mrs. Beaver Teeth," she said with a slight smile. "I'm sure I could help you with whatever problems you need to settle between yourself and Mr. Mulder, the young gentleman here, as it appears he does not wish to comply with your requests." She said evenly and smoothly, her voice like a songbird or something not quite so cliché… hmmm…

_Gentleman? Maybe not. Mr. Mulder? I like. Does not wish to comply? Badassery coming my way._ I grinned. So the hot gal talked grinny out of murdering me in public, at least, but she swore while crossing her heart that "I _will_ get for this one, Coyote Mulder." I got kinda scared, but decided I really hadn't done anything wrong so I didn't feel like I actually _wanted_ the class bully to lock me in the locker. He (actually, she…) did anyway. I banged for a while, and suddenly light poured into my eyes. It was blinding, and I wanted to kick whoever did it.

And then – there she was. Angelica. The beautiful girl of me dreams. And she extending her hand to me. "Mr. Mulder?" She said. And suddenly I saw it. Her voice was timid; her eyes were wide; her mouth was open and her hand outstretched, coated in scarlet blood. "This is my fourth tooth I've lost so far. It's for you."

My heart soared. No one had ever given me their tooth before. Maybe… just maybe, I thought, I could get some money for it, or use it to bait aliens, or granny, or Sammy… or… or just keep it in my locket. It didn't fit, so I was sad, but I was still happy, if that makes any sense. Anyway, I said: "For me?" And she said, "Yes, Coyote. Can I call you that? Or is Mr. Mulder better?"

"How about," I said, a look of mischief crossing my face, "How about Secret Agent Coyote Mulder?"

She smiled. "Secret Agent in what agency?"

"Why," I said, grinning even broader, "The AIA." I said.

"The what?" She raised her lip a little, flinching at the pain in her tooth hole. It made her look cute, I thought, and her lips look genuinely red. "What does 'AIA' stand for, Secret Agent Coyote Mulder?"

It suddenly hit me that I really didn't know. So I thought hard. Suddenly it came to me, since I can think really fast and be smart when people aren't being discouraging to me and really mean. "It stands for the Agency of Intelligent… uh…" And I was stuck. The Agency of Intelligent blank wasn't so intelligent after all.

But Angelica knew exactly what to say, like always… or at least like as in the last few hours I had even known her. (BTW-don't ask how I know her name. I think that witch of a teacher called on her once before.) "Adventurers." She said. "Is that what you were going to say, Secret Agent?"

"Oh, yes." I said, smiling. "Thank you… I must have let a cat got my tongue." And then I cringed. By the time she finally left, I was still in the locker and too entranced to stop the door as it swung back shut.

But anyway, that was how the AIA or Agency of Intelligent Adventurers was created. Beautiful, isn't she? I mean, err, the agency… uh…

So, anyway, I got my best friends to join, like Samantha, and Angelica's sister that I didn't know but Angie (as I like to call her for short) got to join, and uh, did I say Samantha? Well, the Adventurers started out mostly girls, but I did have a few friends that I eventually got to join… like Samantha. Oh, and the hobo kid, John Hobs, who only has one leg. Don't even ask. But best of all, everyone voted that we should have a democratic (whatever that means… I think it means you're a donkey with stripes and stars tattooed on your fur…) vote on the head of the AIA. And everyone voted Secret Agent Coyote Mulder as the Team Leader and Head of the Agency of Intelligent Adventurers.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Haircut day. How else can I describe it? Armageddon from a heretic's point of view? Doomsday? The day where you're sailing to Hell and you reach the Point of No Return? Oh, let's face it – the day Bloody Mary decides to up and "off you his head!" And that – Bloody Mary – is what my grandmother was, because she, of all people, did our haircuts. Imagine that, won't you? And she does it – wait for it – with her fake teeth. (I think granny has monstrous shark teeth underneath her fake ones. She's just trying to hide her horrificness from the world so that the innocent little grandchildren won't suspect a thing. And then, in the middle of the night, when all is peaceful and quiet…)

Samantha goes first, because granny likes her best and likes to do her hair while the teeth are still sharp and actually make a clean cut. (God forbid. Why doesn't she just use her goddamned scissors?) I even heard Sammy giggle. And then it was my turn. Oh, the horrors, oh god it was my turn!

Again, my world began to freeze up. Bloody Mary was going to take my head off with those gnarly, ratty, slobbery, Samantha's-hair-coated razorblades and who was to stop her? Mom and dad were probably making out in a hotel somewhere by the beach, oblivious to what we suffered through and are suffering through… but suddenly it occurred to me that OMG, my mommy had to grow up her entire life with this monster.

"COYOTE MULDER, YOU LOOK LIKE A HIPPIE WITH THAT HAIR!" She shrieked. And then, "Come in here and let me give you a decent haircut. Young men ought to have nice short hair that is manageable and stupid… like a hippie's. I'll give you a haircut the US Military would be proud of!" She boomed. And that was that; the final say on things. I closed my eyes, and walked into the room, only after smashing blindly into the wall a few times, and sat down on the big, ripe cactus (granny thought the pain was a good way to keep our young little minds off of the beautiful haircuts she gives us. You know, I don't really know how or where or when she got this philosophy of her, but – ouch! – it does not agree with my arse.)

I felt the teeth go instantly to work. "Hmmm, hmmm, hmm, hmm, hmmmmmm." My eyes were shut so tight I thought they might bleed, but still, still, I could envision her humming and drooling like a gorgon and her eyes blazing in that blissfully evil way.

_Oh, god, take me now, _I thought. _And if you won't, how about you, Mr. Red Guy with the flames that, uh, so yeah… Stantin? Can I just call you Stan for short? Take me now, Stan! Take me…_ but it was no use. Satan or Satin or Stan or whatever the red guy that looks like granny's pet goat's name was, didn't take me. And of course, nor did god. I was losing faith when suddenly the hair clippings stopped falling on my shoulders, the teeth snapped clacking and clicking and tugging at my beautiful brown hair, and the hellish humming ceased.

"It's a beauty, Soldier." She said, or more whispered, in awe. _WTF did she just call me? Soldier? _And then I remembered: _"…Even the US Military would be proud of."_ And my eyes flew from their painfully squinted shutting the world out state into the widest I've ever seen them.

And there it was, and the light flooded back into my eyes and vision and again I could see. There it was – a flat, cube-like buzz-cut, sat atop my horrified little head. "Mother of god," I whispered, and then I fainted.

When I came to, I was in total darkness. _The basement_. I thought. But then I opened my eyes and oh, look, I'm not in total darkness anymore. I was on the couch, staring straight up at the ceiling, and the scent of cats, old ladies, and mildew drifted through to me, clogging up my nostrils like old mayonnaise and rotting fish on greasy, oiling pancakes. Actually, I think that was the cat smell, not the mildew, or maybe even some of all three (I know granny likes this particular dish all coated with her motor oil. As I've said in earlier stages of this story, granny loves her motor oil.)

I then remembered the buzz cut. Holy Mother of God, the buzz cut. It was over for me, I thought. It was all over. And then Angelica suddenly jumped up from behind the couch and I had a near heart attack and fell on the ground and the cactus spikes on me arse bared their fearsome teeth and set the flesh around them on fire once more. I nearly howled, but came to my senses and told myself that wolves howl to find each other, and I didn't want to be found right now.

So I instead stared and Angelica and she stared back at me with those big, bright blue eyes and smiled. "Team Leader," she whispered. "I've come to recue you, just on time." And she was. Just like always.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I snuck out the window with Angelica – excuse me, Special Agent Angelica – and followed her silently back to the Agency's hide out. We didn't dare talk on the way there, sneaking just below granny's bedroom window and wriggling beneath her spiky rose garden beauties. When we got there, I saw that Angie's sister Kalaka'a (pronounced Kalaka'a*) was there, too. She had long, dark hair, and brown eyes. She was named after some Hawaiian gal in Angie's family. Anyway, Sammy and John Hobs were there, too.

"Special Agent Mulder," Kalaka'a rushed over to me. She older than Angie by one year. "You're grandmother has been officially pronounced a threat to America, and especially to the Adventurers. She's planning on destroying us once and for all." She stated. "Nice buzz cut, by the way..." she looked sheepish with this last statement.

I suddenly looked very serious. "The Granster tried to make me talk, but I refused. She knows of our existence, but I'm the only member she knows about. So she needed to know about the others so she call... your MOMS." A shutter rippled through the crowd. Finally, Sammy whispered, "And did you tell them?" And I shook me head gravely. "No, and so she tortured me."

John Hobs the hobo kid said, "I don't have a mom," and everyone stared at him for a moment. He's kinda weird, but he's okay, I guess...

"Yeah, so anyway..." and suddenly I Samantha for the first time in full since haircuts. Her hair actually looked really good, for once... it looked smoother and glossier than ever before and even somehow longer and darker. Before I could let myself drool over my own sister, which, by

_**(*actually pronounced KA-la-ka with a little something on the end)**_

the way, would be really creepy, I turned my attention back to Agents Kalaka'a, Angelica, and John, and made a very serious statement. "Guys, I just realized that since superman is an alien he might actually have met Darth Vader. Maybe superman could shut those nerds up once and for all who keep whining that 'Star Wars isn't physically possible' etc. I think it's a plan. And he could help us with granny, too." I smiled.

Everyone thought I was really smart, and so we agreed that we must find superman, no matter what the cost. Even if it it meant murdering your parents(' change purse in search of a nickle).

"No matter what the cost? Is superman a prostitute?" John said, and again, we all stared. As I've said before, he's kinda weird, but he's also kinda cool.

"No, Agent John, he's not a prostitute. He's an awesome alien guy who could stop all crime in the world _and _everywhere else on earth, but he doesn't want to, for some reason, so he only fights super-villains that want to be evil so that superman can fight somebody." I lectured.

And suddenly, right then, we heard it. "Mother of God," I whispered, and then the word ripped from my throat: "RUN!" The hose had just been turned on but none other than the motor-oil drinking Granny.

We ran like frightened rabbits as fast and far as we could, but a new problem arose to meet us: granny was not only raving around from other side of the house, with her thumb jammed into the mouth of the hose, water spewing forth like a venomous, spitting king cobra, she was also driving the lawn mover, and her eyes were ablaze was a fearsome fire, bloodshot and red.

I screamed at my team to move. They were running fast and hard but the lawn mower was gaining on us. I knew what I had to do, and I signaled to cross the road. A truck barreled just behind us, nearly taking out Agent John Hobs. I kept running, although I was now sure we were safe.

However, granny and her riding lawnmower kept chasing us, moving the road and spitting gravel everywhere. She clipped on her motorcycle helmet and riding goggles and she truly looked like something from _Night of the Living Head... _or _Dead._ Whatever that movie my parents were watching was called. I think it's about zombies, and granny did look like a zombie. Except that she was more intense than zombies usually are. That really scared me. Other than that, though...

Anyway, I suddenly realized that John Hobs was more running on all threes rather than actually running, because he only has one leg and all, and so I helped him up and we began to run again. My granny was gaining on us fast.

Sammy dove through the hedge into the neighbor's yard, and Kalaka'a and Angelica followed her. They knew that granny would take at least two or three minutes to cut through it – enough time to help them get away. I urged them to keep running once on the other side, but they didn't need the persuasion one bit.

"You have to go on without me!" Hobs shouted to me over the roar of the lawn mower. Granny had at least now lost her long-range advantage of the hose, because she couldn't take it across the street.

I considered strongly dumping Hobs and running for it, but instead and shoved him through the hedge, telling Angie, who was still waiting on the other side, to pull him through. And now I could see my terrified reflection in granny's menacing black goggles and shiny, sleek flame-patterned black helmet. She was no more than three yards away, and the roar of the lawn mower was almost deafening.

I picked up a rock and aimed closely. Just two yards now. The rock felt smooth and cold in my hand. One and a half yards. And then I through it under the mower and dove through the hedge without waiting to see what my ears could easily tell me: granny had been shot in the face by a high-flying, speeding rock shot from beneath her law mower. I smiled contently, and turned to follow my companions.

Later that day, granny mysteriously had the urge to feed Samantha and I motor-oil soup for dinner (the cheap kind, of course, because the expensive kind is what she saves for herself) and so we "politely" refused and slunk off down to The Dungeon (aka the basement) and fought over who got to sleep in the "non-spider-infested" corner of the prison. In the end, granny made me sleep with the spiders, because granny likes Samantha better.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The next three days at granny's house were miserable. Pure misery, I tell you. We – meaning Samantha and I – were sentenced to stay here for _three weeks._ Think about it, folks – _three weeks. _I was on the verge of killing myself or calling the cops... or the ghost busters, I wasn't really sure by the end of those miserable days. Granny seemed to be getting worse and worse every day – once, she even made us help her in the garden (she purposefully restrained from giving us gloves to work with the roses, and by the end of that session, my hand was so red with blood it looked like a rose itself).

On the evening of, I think it was, our fifth day there counting the day we got there and haircut/mower-chase day, I finally knew I would either go insane or drop dead if I didn't do something about her. And then I remembered it: _I must seek the aid of superman. He would know what to do._ And then I thought, _but how to get superman to come to my aid?_ And then I knew. And that was when I began to smile and form and plan and I thought I was real clever. And I was – for a time.

I snuck out in the middle of the night with a brown burlap sack onto Mr. Sneedle Grode's front porch, and knocked on his door, adjusting my burglar's mask (some of Samantha's black dress tights) and snapping on some over-large rubber gloves. Grode wrenched open the door with his buck-teeth protruding and cocking up a long-barreled shot gun and aiming it at my crotch. Why he wasn't in the drunk tank for eternity was a mystery to me, but then again, when I was seven, I didn't really understand the ways of the belligerent drunk.

"It's just me, Sneedle," I said. "It's Coyote. I need your help with something."

"I know it's you, but you're a goddamn kid and I hate doggamned dids, k?" He was real drunk, I figured. Real drunk.

"I need your help to kill a kitten," I said, and instantly his eyes lit up. He scratched his chin, smacking me in the balls with the tip of his gun (maybe on accident, maybe not) as it swung carelessly on two fingers.

I jumped back, and said "do you have a spare kitten?" And he did. A little, fluffy, perfect gray young female cat with snowy white paws, chest and nose. It had humungous the fungus luminescent green eyes and looked almost cartoon like.

I took it and stuffed it in my burlap sack. I then thanked Mr. Grode, and slunk away to a high, towering pine tree near my neighbor's house, and one that my granny despised because it shaded her house on the mildly warm days and provided her no shade on the hottest of days when she really wanted it (or so she said, although it didn't quite seem to make sense).

Anyway, I'm a pretty good climber, so I climbed up the tree with the kitten in the sack, and tied it to the top branch. Superman can't leave this one alone. I knew I had done well. So I gave the kitten some chicken (well, actually, a whole chicken because I thought the kitten could play with the feathers if it got bored waiting for superman to come) and some milk. As I was climbing back down the tree, some white liquid dribbled on my head. I tasted it, afraid it might have come from a bird, but it was milk. I guess the kitten either didn't want it or was trying to surrender to someone by turning my head into a white flag or something. And then I remembered that burlap sack have lots of holes in them, and that the bowl most likely tipped over. I sighed. Oh well. The poor little kitten would have to shower tomorrow when superman came, and also wait until then to make ice-cream, or whip-cream, or have milk in its cereal or on berries... I felt kinda bad, but I could hear granny stirring in her house below. So I quickly scrambled down the rest of the tree and stole silently back into the house.

Superman unfortunately never came, and neither did Santa Clause. In fact, no one showed up to rescue the kitten other than some dweeb with buck-teeth known as granny's home-town sheriff. And he broke his back doing it. Somehow, he lived, so maybe he was superman in disguise or something like that, although I thought superdude had nerdy glasses. Just like Harry Potter or something. Is Harry Potter... no, that can't be, can it? Anyhoo...

Sneedle Grode took me under his wing for a bit and taught me how to shoot the pants off laundry lines and even a few people, and so that was actually kind of fun (and it would have been more so if he didn't smell so much like alcohol).

Finally, two weeks had passed since Sammy and I first arrived at Granny's house. I had come down with something from sleeping near Granddaddy's remains, and I was getting a solid F in school, which I was proud of, because it made me look real bad-ass.

About school, again... I really block most of it out, and the rest I try to forget. However, memories of the evil granster still float in the air.

Anyway, I had one week left to suffer through, and then I could go on with my life. And that last week, I tell you, was not only a night mare, but it was simply a horror.

Let's just say for now that Granny and the neighborhood punk were co-instructing a summer camp together. Let's begin, shall we?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

So... summer camp. Wow. This is possibly one of my most frightening memories known to history. Ever. So here we go, prepare to enter my personal hell.

The story of this... this horror begins when my grandmother declared one day that Sammy and I, as well as some other local neighborhood kids, could use some shaping-up with a little instruction and structured discipline. The punk – Burt Pokostick was his name – said he would like to "sculpt" a few of us into shape. And I don't think he meant behaviorally. And trust me, I had seen that guy mess up the sturdiest faces in the state, including his hulking, buff sister (of course, that's how his Mohawk was turned permanently red as well, but hey, he did break her nose, which was pretty good, against her... no, really good against her...). So anyway, this guy and granny were going to teach us. And my buzz cut hadn't grown back yet, of course, so I was afraid to show myself in public other than to Angie and her sis, who are both really awesome, and John Hobs, who I guess in kinda cool. And of course Samantha. That wasn't really a choice for me, I guess, but if it was, I don't actually think I'd go up to her and say "hey, Sammy, look! I joined the army and got a buzz cut!" But I guess it was okay that she saw.

So enough about scary Burt Pokostick and Granny and the Buzz. On to camp! God help me, here we go:

"In my camp, I want you little _punks_ to act like soldiers, understood?" Burt snapped, spitting on all of us. I noticed he a tongue ring. Gawk! He was obsessed with the US military, but being only seventeen, couldn't join until December, when his birthday was (exactly two months after mine – December 13th).

"Understood!" We all cried in unison. I could see, already, that I was not the only one with sweat running down the back of my neck and shirt. And then I saw that Burt was wearing only a kilt that came barely to his knees but didn't actually cover their royal hairiness, and he was wearing black high-heels that he teetered on from just standing there (you go, Scully! Way to climb fences and chase bad guys in those things! Wooh!). I smirked, and he shot me a glare. He had a big tattoo of her girlfriend's things on his chest, which looked so creepy I decided to puke later that day.

Granny came outside, and she was wearing her hair up in a tight, gray bun, and was wearing half of her military outfit and half of her motorcycling one, including the black, leather gloves and goggles and helmet. She had the most menacing frown on her face _ever_. I shuttered, and felt Samantha grip my hand tight.

"Hey! No one is to act like friends in this camp!" He ripped our hand away from each other, and escorted Sammy into the 'girls' section of the camp lineup. Then he said very militantly, "What if one of you got pregnant? That's why we can't have any inappropriate touching. Understood?"

But I didn't understand, so of all the dumb things I'd said so far during my stay with granny, I said to Burt, "I thought you can only get pregnant by doing the nasty?"

"Watch your tongue, soldier. There is nothing nasty about doing it." He barked, with a sly grin on his face that made me want to puke again. But I restrained. For the time being.

Granny suddenly blew her whistle. "Soldiers! At attention!" She ordered, and we stood up straight while she checked us over for weapons and/or other such "illegal" items. One kid, an eight-year-old girl with ratty, gnarly dark hair was found with some chewing gum in her mouth, and got smacked on the back of the head so that the gum hit another kid standing in front of the girl on the back of the head and the gum got stuck in his hair. Burt ripped it off his hair and began chewing it, whining the whole time that he hated watermelon. I didn't think it probably tasted like watermelon after what had just happened, but I knew better by then, and kept my mouth shut. Granny finished her inspections, only after breaking a water-gun over some poor kid's head and making some other kid eat his entire packet of Starburts, including the packet and wrappers.

Only then did Burt announce that we would be going on a backpacking trip. It was then, and only then, that the true hellishness of this granny-visiting thing truly sunk in.


End file.
